Dreadful
by guitarcrash
Summary: Hermione is nothing but pragmatic. But what could unwind such a put together person like Hermione? Or rather, who? A silly little oneshot. DMHG. Sixth year, for a change.


**Title: Dreadful**

**Rating: PG13**

**Author: Guitarcrash**

**Summary: In the course of a few weeks, Hermione's threads of normalcy are come undone. A silly little oneshot. DMHG. Sixth year, for a change. **

**A/N: Let us all assume that tapestries talk. Enjoy, everyone. :D Oh yeah, I don't own Harry Potter. Sigh.  
**

Hermione Jean Granger, levelheaded and rational as she was, had more often than not kept a secure hold to certain norms.

Not that what she perceived as normalcy was_ anywhere _near ordinary.

Her standards were higher than most, and even _that_ was justified. She was intelligent, and young, but more importantly she had convictions about many things those other witches and wizards her age dared not dabble in (House elf slavery, for starters).

Free-willed, and forthright, Hermione fought for her indignations, turning a deaf ear to the derisive comments of those who thought her cause to be absurd.

Nobody else was more sure of what they wanted, and what measures they would take to achieve the said aims. She was clever, philanthropic, and severely talented.

A girl like her was _never_ easily deterred.

Nor disheartened.

So, it was only normal that many had raised eyebrows when Gryffindor's resident know-it-all had the most crestfallen, despondent look on her face as she received the results of their latest History of Magic examination.

_Surely_, Hermione Granger had not failed - because, simply, she _never_ failed. But one could never be too sure – and seeing that his dear friend was nearly catatonic, Harry had decided to intervene with Hermione's stupor.

"Hey, Hermione," he tapped her lightly, with a half-smile on his face. "Don't tell me, Professor Binns _finally_ questioned your opinion on Burdock Muldoon, right? Can't say I'm not surprised - though he did just write _Erroneous in some aspects, but passable_, in mine. It's amazing I still got Acceptable." Harry laughed unsurely. Hermione wasn't showing any signs of having heard him.

"Er, Hermione? Is something wrong?" She just stared. "Hermione?"

Her grip on her test paper had quivered slightly, and for a second or so, Harry was able to glimpse a great big D in Binn's ghostly ink. And it did _not_stand for Delightful.

_Dreadful_. Utterly, incomprehensibly, Dreadful.

_Well, Merlin be damned, _Harry thought. Unbeknownst him, she was thinking likewise.

And if Burdock Muldoon's assessment of two-legged magical beings was frowned upon, then this _situation_ of Hermione's was just that, and more; unheard of, and nonplussing, to boot.

It was a definite sign that something had, along the way, gone terribly wrong. That the knots of Hermione's inner threads of responsibility, and resolution, had indeed come undone.

But what could unwind such a put together person like Hermione?

Or rather, _who?_

**µµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµ**

_3 Weeks Before_

It was quite a truly disastrous day.

Neville,_poor_,_sweet_, Neville, had once again successfully massacred a potion, well, the Draught of Peace actually, in Snape's class. That is to say, he had not only lost around 50 or so points for Gryffindor, but he had also successfully pushed the Potions Master to go ballistic – sending unsolicited smacks to the head to some unfortunate sons of Gryffindor (namely Harry Potter, and Ron Weasely).

_Naturally_, Hermione wasn't on the receiving end of Snape's onslaught. But it made her cringe even just to watch.

In her opinion, Snape's fit was unreasonable, because he had obviously intensified Neville's misgivings with his snide remarks on Neville's performance for the last 6 years. The Slytherin Head had been provoking him!

What made the situation even more infuriating, was that Malfoy and his posse were enjoying the show! Laughing their arses off, those berks - though Goyle's was more of a series of grunts and snorts.

And Hermione could've sworn she saw Snape wink at Malfoy.

It wasn't that Hermione hadn't gotten used to Snape's treatment by then, but _really_, they were just being childish!

"Why don't you just shut your trap, Malfoy," Hermione said with vehemence, skillfully lowering her voice just enough for him to hear.

Malfoy sneered. "So Granger's got a potty mouth," he faced her pointedly. "I wouldn't be so haughty if I were you. Though those moronic lackeys of yours may follow your every will and command, do_not_ think for even a second that everyone is subjected to your overbearing, buck-toothed, _Mudblood_, self."

Hermione reddened considerably. She sent him a glare so intense; the air between them seemed to give off sparks. Not in a good way.

"Ooh. I'm just _so_ scared of the Mudblood," Malfoy jeered. "_Not."_

Oh, what she would do just to swipe off that smirk on his face.

Just as she was about to tell him to piss off, Snape found it convenient to butt in.

"Is anything the matter here, Ms. Granger? Because I will not hesitate to take away more points from your _beloved_ House," he threatened, "at this rate, Godric Gryffindor himself will be ashamed to have ever made the house of the brave, but invariably_stupid_," he added silkily.

Hermione bit her tongue, reluctantly of course. "Nothing,_ Professor_. Everything's just peachy," she managed to say.

Malfoy snickered in the background.

**µµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµ**

_2 and a Half Weeks Before_

"You know, Granger, you smell awfully a lot like meat," Draco acted as if sniffing. "When was the last time you took a bath? That is, if your sort even have any kind of personal hygiene."

It was Thursday, and Hermione just _hated _Thursdays. Mainly because she had patrols during Thursday nights, with Malfoy no less. Hermione was convinced that the universe was out to get her.

"Would it be so much to ask for you to just shut up once in a while?" Hermione was tired, and she just wanted to be as far away from Malfoy as she possibly can. "The less talking, and insulting there is, the faster we can get this over with."

Draco smirked. "On the contrary my dear beaver, I happen to enjoy our little weekly rendezvous. _You_ may do this because of your righteous role as prefect; _I_ on the other hand see this as an opportune moment to drive Potty's princess barking mad. It's a noble cause if I do say so myself," he finished, looking pleased.

Yes, Hermione just _despised_ Thursday nights. The darkness in the halls was only secondary to Malfoy's presence.

"_First_, I am _not _Harry's princess," she shot back icily. "And second, your version of morality is completely mental."

Draco was just even more piqued. "I seemed to have hit a nerve, haven't I, Granger? Potty too busy snogging that red-haired wench?" he asked, hitting closer to home than he thought. "Not good enough for the-boy-who-won't-die, aren't you? I had no idea Potter had some stan—"

That was it, enough to drive Hermione overboard.

_SMACK!_

It was a beautiful sight, if she said so herself. Her hand had collided with the side of his face, leaving a big, striking, red mark on Malfoy's pale skin. And the _look_ on Malfoy's face – it was just priceless; a mix of shock and burning pain. _Heck, _the impact was so great that the sound of it had echoed throughout the hallway, even the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy cringed as it resounded.

Draco was livid, to say shortly. "What the hell was that?!" he shouted, holding his throbbing cheek gingerly. Suppressed memories of his third year came flooding back at an instant, only that his cheek stung enough for him to overlook them. "What the _bloody_ hell was that, Granger?!"

Hermione hadn't noticed she was breathing raggedly. She gulped some air to compose herself.

"You very well deserved that, you arse! You have no right to pick on me,_or_ my friends. Just because your daddy's money protects you, doesn't give you any right to lash out every sick, twisted, barb you have up your sleeve." Only Malfoy could rattle her so easily. She _hated_ him to his acid core. "Now would you just shut up! You're making more noise than an enraged Banshee!"

"I will curse, and scream all I want, Granger!" he bellowed back, bitingly. "I'm not the nutter that blows her top off at the slightest remark. And don't you dare think that you could hit a Malfoy twice, and get away with it." His tone was menacing, and his face even more hostile. The redness of his cheek only added to his overall scariness. "This isn't third year, Granger. And look," he gestured around them, "your buffoons aren't here to protect you."

Hermione had suddenly realized that she _was_ alone. But that ferret didn't scare her one bit, she still had her wand and—

"Expelliarmus!" the Slytherin shouted before she could even react.

_Crud_, she thought as she saw her wand fly to the end of the hall. Hermione was disarmed, alone, and had to face a terribly pissed off Malfoy. This was definitely one of those _oh crap_ moments.

"Not so cocky now, aren't you?" he laughed mockingly.

The wheels in Hermione's mind turned. "You wouldn't dare hurt me, you'd get expelled! Or worse, have detention… in the Forbidden Forest!" There was a flicker of hesitance in his face, but it subsided no sooner than it arose.

"Oh please, Granger. Do you think I still care about trivial things like school? My father is in incarcerated in Azkaban, and my mother—has not been herself lately. Do you really think having _detention_ is at the top of my worries? And I thought you were smart."

Malfoy lifted his wand, but before he could utter his next spell, fueled by adrenaline, Hermione flung herself at him, causing him to fall over on the hard, marble floor. By then, it was sheer brute force, wands forgotten.

Draco had the upper hand in terms of strength, but Hermione's surprise attack had worked to her advantage. Self-defense lessons with her mom during the summer break had just become helpful. Just as Malfoy pulled himself up, she had kneed him in the groin, gaining a colourful array of curses from the poor boy.

Hermione was going to make a run for her wand, but Malfoy had recovered sooner than she expected. He made a lunge at her, causing her to forcefully hit the ground as he had before. Draco was on top of her, sweating, breathing heavily, just a breath away from Hermione's face. It was mesmerizing. Livid gray stared fiercely into curious brown. Their faces were so close. She could feel the heat radiating from him, his heavy scent making her feel lightheaded. It was untimely, but she couldn't help but study his face, the red mark was still there, though only a vestige. The Gryffindor prefect wasn't so sure anymore if her loss of breath was because of the rather heavy Slytherin crushing her, or just because it was difficult to both stare at his eyes and breathe at the same time. No coherent thoughts here.

"Ahem," someone coughed.

Gray, and brown, faced the source of the sound, only to meet a twinkling, brilliant, blue. It was the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore.

"Is this your wand Ms. Granger?" he asked almost too nonchalantly, as if the scene before him was as pleasant as a picnic in the park.

The two prefects, surprised by the Headmaster's unheard arrival had disentangled themselves from their compromising position on the hallway floor. Hermione was first up on her feet, straightening her skirt.

This was awkward. "Um, yes, Professor," she replied meekly. She took it from him, and uttered a weak, "Thanks."

Draco was standing up straight by then, too. Disheveled, but in one piece.

"May I assume that you tripped Mr. Malfoy? Bringing Ms. Granger here with you?"

"Well, no actually—"

"Do not fret. We all have our moments of clumsiness. And I think it would be much more convenient for you both to finish your patrols as it is getting very late," he smiled. "But if you would excuse me, I am in need of the loo."

Just like that, the highly regarded wizard flounced to the wall opposite Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, revealing a door that seemed to have appeared just then, and entered with a twist of the knob. The Room of Requirement, of course, Hermione thought.

The door clicked close, and Draco and Hermione were left alone in the deserted hallway. It was Draco who broke the silence, awkwardly, still.

"I think we should get a move on," he said. "Dumbledore's orders."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say, so she settled for, "OK."

It was just like that, as if they had not just fought on the floor.

It was an improvement for the pair, though the rest of the night was unsettlingly quiet.

**µµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµ**

_2 Weeks Before_

Snape had not lost his momentum. Oh, what joy it brought to him to see the trepidation in Longbottom's face, he would definitely _enjoy_ working with Ms. Parkinson. And the tomato-like red of Weasely's face, it was bliss. Crabbe, would be a perfect match for the temperamental carrot head. _Ah_, he had looked at the next pair in the list, he would enjoy announcing this one.

"Mr. Malfoy, will be paired up with Ms. Granger."

Draco had silently stood up from where he sat, and took the seat beside Hermione. No gestures of protest, no threats of reporting to the minister, not even a measly scowl! Only a curt nod from the Slytherin to the Gryffindor.

You could imagine how disappointed Snape had been, and how the rest of the class just dropped jaws.

**µµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµ**

_1 and a Half Weeks Before_

"Are you absolutely, positively, _sure,_ Hermione?" Ron asked, incredulously.

"Yes, of course, Ronald," she replied confidently, as she sat on the crimson sofa beside the common room fireplace. "You have to study well for the NEWTs, and I wouldn't want prefect duties to hinder you from getting a good mark."

"What about you?"

"I'm quite prepared. I've been studying for months."

"But _really_ Hermione, I knew you were generous, but you're actually willing to take all my shifts for the rest of the year?" he gaped a bit.

"Yes," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

**µµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµ**

_1 Week Before_

The Headmaster had once again drunk too much butterbeer after a delightful chat with the Hogwarts house-elves, finding his bladder especially full. Knowing a dependable room where he can relieve the butterflies trapped in his stomach – rather, his bladder, he had walked patiently expecting an easy entrance.

"Hello, Barnabas," Dumbledore had greeted the barmy tapestry character.

Barnabas had temporarily stopped trying to teach the trolls in the fabric ballet, and had greeted the Headmaster in return.

"Hello, Professor," he said with a goofy smile. "I wouldn't think of using the Room of Requirement, at the moment. It's occupied."

"Ah," Dumbledore exclaimed, knowingly. "'Tis a shame. I was hoping to put those ever trustworthy chamber pots to use again."

"Indeed, but the Girl and Boy seem to be abusing the Room. _Everyday_, god forbid." Barnabas added, with an exasperated sigh.

Dumbledore let out a delighted chuckle. "Let them be, my dear Barnabas, the first weeks of love are the most ardent."

With that he glided towards the end of the hallway, ignoring the sounds of an intense snog session.

**µµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµµ**

_Present_

It was Thursday, and Hermione's view on Thursdays had changed particularly since the day of the Scuffleas they had decided to name their confrontation.

He was waiting for her just a few hallways from the one that led to the fat Lady's painting. Draco had his hands in his pockets, using the wall as support for his back as he stood. His face had lit up when he saw her.

She wasn't so keen.

"Hey, _Granger_," he said in good humor. A genuine smile dazzled his face.

"Don't you _Hey Granger_ me," she replied hotly. Draco seemed affronted. But she smiled back slyly after, causing him to relax somewhat.

"We're going to have to talk about our study schedules," she said, determined.

Draco put a hand to his head, and said, "I just knew our education was going to be an issue again."

"I'm totally serious. I can't be failing my classes just because I'm seeing someone. Plus, it's really uncharacteristic of me to fail an exam, don't you think? Harry and Ron are getting suspicious," she said, matter-of-factly.

"But—"

"No buts. That Room of Requirement has _got _to be useful for other things, you know."

"And I thought I was already able to convert you to a Slytherin."

Hermione looked horrified. "_Never._"Then she added with a glance at her watch, "Hey it's already half-past eleven! We have to finish our patrols now if we still want to, uhm," she couldn't bear to say it, "er, use the Room of Requirement."

Draco laughed. "You are prudence, personified," then he said after a grin, "Lead the way, love."

Despite the grim results of her History of Magic exam, she could not fathom how in the world anything could be dreadful, at all.

Such is the tale of how in the course of a few weeks; Hermione's threads of normalcy are come undone.

_Fin_

**A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as I did writing this! Review. :)**


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